


One Week in Gotham

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Business Trips, Eavesdropping, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Secret Identity, Slow seduction techniques
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2024361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While they’ve fought side by side on more than one occasion, there is one thing that Superman and Batman simply do not do - socialize. </p><p>All this changes when Clark Kent travels to Gotham for a city conference on a supposedly revolutionizing new invention. His assignment: to cover the story and report back to his editor. As far as Clark's concerned, he'll write his series of articles and head back to Metropolis, job done. </p><p>Bruce Wayne, flying back home to attend the conference, has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“This is your captain speaking. We will begin our descent shortly. Please make sure your seat belts are buckled. Good morning, and welcome to Gotham City.”

Clark Kent stretched his legs as much as he could, which wasn’t much considering the cramped airline seats. It would be good to finally get off the plane. The flight had been delayed right before takeoff, and then there had been a storm passing over Gotham that kept the plane circling over the airport for over an hour. All he wanted now was a shower and a couple hours of shut-eye before the conference started tomorrow.

Clark watched the spires of Gotham City appear through the early evening fog. In this light Gotham looked like an illustration, something out of a book he had read once.

In spite of himself Clark was starting to get more interested in the assignment that had been given him. One week in Gotham wasn't the end of the world. If anything it was a sign of his editor finally allowing him the chance to show his range. If it wasn't for being away from Metropolis, he'd have been more excited from the start. It was only a week after all. The city could survive a week without him. Right?

There was an explosion of laughter from first class and he looked up. The curtain twitched aside as a stewardess made her way down the aisle. Clark caught sight of a dark head and distinctive profile as a blonde woman leaned over the man.

Clark sank lower in his seat, trying to ignore the tension in his gut at spotting the man.

Of all the airplanes in the world, what were the odds Bruce Wayne had to end up on his?

Wayne turned his head to the side as the blonde slunk over his lap again, reaching for something from the stewardess’s tray. For a moment there was an absence of expression on his face as he looked away from the woman and then he turned further and saw Clark watching him.

Clark glanced away immediately, pretending he was deeply invested in the sight of the city below. He felt the man still watching him, but when he looked back again Wayne’s attention was on the woman once more.

Clark thought he was safe after that, but when he got up to use the restroom the one at the back of the plane was taken. There was no hope but to go forward and use the one between classes. He carefully didn’t look in Wayne's direction as he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

The door didn’t catch behind him and Clark turned.

Bruce Wayne pushed the door open and entered, closing it behind him.

"It's occupied." Clark said a fraction too late. The bathroom was slightly bigger than the one in economy class, but nowhere near large enough to accommodate the two of them comfortably. In this proximity he could smell Wayne’s cologne, subtle and expensive.

Wayne raised an eyebrow. "So I see." He turned towards the sink, "Just washing my hands. Feel free to-" He gestured towards the toilet and Clark desperately wanted to know what had given Bruce Wayne the idea that he would casually relieve himself in front of him. That was nowhere near the level of intimacy they held.

"I can wait." He leaned back against the wall, which created a bare foot or so of space between them. It wasn’t enough. Wayne was tall, at least an inch and a half taller than him. Broad shouldered underneath a trim navy suit. The room was too small, but there wasn't room for Clark to leave either.

Wayne eyed him in the mirror. "Here for the conference are we?"

Clark nodded. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Why else would he be in Gotham?

"I'm sure you’ll find it educational." Wayne remarked. He brushed a hand through his hair, sweeping a few dark waves back into place. For some reason Clark thought of the woman he had been sitting with and wondered if Wayne liked having his hair messed with. It was not a topic he’d ever considered before, but then he didn’t usually see Wayne bareheaded. Well, not outside the society pages at least.

"Well, if you're not going to," Wayne turned towards the toilet. It took Clark a full second to realize the man was actually unzipping his trousers in front of him. The sound of the zipper was obscenely loud in the cramped airplane bathroom. Wayne pissed busily and Clark tried to look anywhere but down. He had the distinct feeling Wayne was smirking at him.

Wayne gave him an amused look as he washed his hands once more. “All yours.”

Clark gave a sigh of relief as soon the man was finally gone and he could lock the door. He relieved himself quickly and tried to straighten the wrinkles in his suit without much luck. Oh well, he’d be able to get it ironed at the hotel before tomorrow.

As he stepped out the stewardess brushed past him. “Sir, please return to your seat and fasten your seat belt. We’re getting ready to land.”

“Right away.” Clark smiled at her, heading back to his seat.

 *  *  *

Once they’d landed, Clark made sure he had everything tucked back in his laptop bag before joining the rest of the passengers disembarking.

He patted his pockets, checking again on his wallet and glasses case when he stumbled over something. when he looked down there was a foot blocking the aisle. Clark straightened up, trying not to glare at the man who had tripped him.

"Clark Kent." Wayne drawled. "Metropolis's finest." His gaze swept over Clark from head to toe in a careless inspection.

The blonde woman laughed. “Finest _what_?” She winked at Clark who blushed.

“Now that is the question.” Wayne murmured.

Clark moved past him, not bothering to respond. There was no reason to play this sort of game just because they were both in Gotham and Wayne knew that. Heck, Wayne had visited Metropolis before and Clark had never treated him like this.

*  *  *

There was no one to meet him at baggage claim but Clark wasn't really expecting that. He collected his bag and headed out to the curb to look for a taxi.

A sleek gray Jaguar was escorted to the pick-up lane and Clark knew who it was for before Wayne even approached it, tossing his bag in the back seat.

Wayne glanced at him as he tipped the valet and took the keys. "Need a lift?"

"No, thanks. I'm-" Clark hefted his bag more comfortably over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. _Taxi._ Right, he was looking for a taxi.

"Get in." Wayne jerked his head at the passenger side. "It'll give us a chance to talk."

It was the first allusion he'd made to the fact that they'd met before today- that they both held the sort of secret that could get each other killed.

He looked around for the blonde woman. “Where’s-“

“She had a connecting flight.” Wayne left the door open and went around to the driver’s side. “Come on.”

Clark got in. The jag’s upholstery was smooth under his fingertips. He put his bag on the floor and settled his laptop bag on his lap as Wayne started the car.

Once in the driver’s seat, a level of the veneer of charm fell away from Wayne’s exterior. It wasn’t so much that he dropped the mask, more as though he had simply relaxed. Clark was fascinated.

“Where are you staying?” Wayne pulled out of the airport parking lot, heading for the city.

“The Claremont.” Clark answered. He watched the way Wayne handled the car with confident, capable hands, completely at home in charge of the powerful machine. It was hardly the manner of a reckless playboy.

He glanced up to find Bruce looking at him.

“Nice car.” Clark said easily.

“Thanks.” Wayne looked amused as though he were about to say something else and then changed his mind.

Wayne drove effortlessly, speeding with the ease of someone for whom speeding tickets did not exist. Clark sat back and enjoyed the speed. There was a companionable silence between the two of them as they made their way further into Gotham. In a moment like this he could almost forget the mocking Bruce Wayne he’d encountered on the plane. But then there was also the Batman. The sarcastic, glowering companion Clark was used to. It was hard to reconcile the two at times.

“Something on your mind?” Wayne inquired, eyes on the road.

“You attending the conference?”

Wayne side-eyed him then. “That the only reason you can think why I’d be back in Gotham?”

He was teasing. Bruce Wayne was _teasing_ him.

Clark nudged his glasses up with his forefinger. “One or two other reasons come to mind.”

Wayne chuckled. The surprise of it sent warmth curling through Clark’s chest. He’d never heard him laugh before, not really.

“What about you? Only here for the conference?”

Now that was a simple answer. “Why else would I be here?”

“Oh I can think of one or two other reasons.” Wayne said lightly.

Unexpectedly a flush rose along Clark’s neck. He’d been hit on regularly since making reporter, by both men and women. People who thought he looked too young for the job, too inexperienced, a pushover. At the same time, Clark couldn’t resent those looks because they often made people more inclined to trust him, since apparently he looked so young and artless.

It still took a while for him to recognize when it was happening though. This, he would definitely classify as flirting. Bruce Wayne, insinuating things, flirting with him.

Before he could decide on a response, what sort of response could he possibly give to that anyway, Wayne continued speaking. “Wayne Enterprises is one of the main holding companies in the demonstration for the new water facilities. I’ll be there all week.”

“So will I,” Clark said absently, thinking of the interview he had set up with Allan Lawson tomorrow morning. The businessman was one of the board members on the new city committee. While it would have been better to interview him later in the week once more of the panels had taken place, Clark knew he was lucky to have gotten a spot at all. He still owed Lois a drink for getting him that.

“I know.” Wayne said, breaking into his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what?” Clark said, startled.

Wayne smiled, but didn’t respond as he pulled up in front of the hotel Clark had named. “Here we are.”

 _Good thing too._ Clark picked up his laptop bag and opened the door before reaching for his duffel.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“See you at the conference.” Wayne drove away without looking back at him.

“Yeah.” Clark muttered. “See you.”

He went into the hotel and checked in. It was nearly ten. Time for that shower and a meal.

Unfortunately, while he was waiting for room service, the concierge called up to his room to inform him that the showers on floors 10 through 12 were experiencing pipe difficulties and that they’d be obliged if he would refrain from using his shower tonight.

“Alright,” Clark scratched at the back of his neck. “So when do you think it’ll be fixed?”

“We plan on having the issue resolved by tomorrow, sir.” The concierge told him. “We do apologize for the inconvenience.”

There was a knock at the door. Clark stifled a sigh. “I understand.” He hung up and went to the door.

At least the chicken-fried steak and gravy he’d ordered were delicious. Clark was starved after the plane ride with nothing to eat but peanuts. He ate while going over his notes for the coming interview.

He hated to get between the fresh sheets without showering, but there was nothing else for it. He fell asleep quickly, without dwelling on the encounter with Wayne.

 *  *  *

In the morning the showers still weren’t fixed and Clark was less inclined to be amiable about it. However the unpleasant clamoring of the other hotel guests were a reminder that complaining about it wouldn’t improve matters any. He could only hope that the problem would be dealt with by the time he was done at the conference for the day.

In the meantime, his suit was at least ironed and he combed his hair until it looked halfway decent.

 *  *  *

The first half of the day went quickly with Clark taking notes on the opening statements from the various companies. The employee speaking for Wayne Enterprises seemed certain of what she was doing. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be seen.

_Why am I not surprised?_

It wasn’t like he was disappointed, of course. Since he’d be here for an entire week, chances were he’d run into Wayne again at some point. Besides he had that interview to get ready for.

At least that’s what Clark thought until he showed up at the appointed meeting time in the side lounge.

A harried looking assistant with a clipboard came up to him. “You the reporter from the Planet?”

“That’s me.” Clark held out his hand.

“Mr. Lawson has to cancel the interview. A meeting had to be rescheduled.” He checked something on his clipboard and looked up at Clark. “Sorry about that.”

“Is there any way I could-” Clark started, but the assistant’s Blackberry vibrated and he knew the man wasn’t listening.

“Sorry,” the man murmured again and moved off down the hall, making notes as he went.

Clark sighed. _Just my luck._

He checked his watch and grabbed a sandwich from the buffet table before heading back towards the main hall for the afternoon session.

This time Bruce Wayne was present during the session. The billionaire was seated at the end of the table, attention on his phone as the head speaker discussed the outline for the following conference days.

Clark tugged at his collar absently, envious of Wayne’s relaxed manner. Him in his neatly ironed suit and carefully combed hair. His shirt looked freshly laundered, even from this distance.

_Please, let the showers be fixed at the hotel tonight. Please._

At one point Wayne glanced in his general direction, but his gaze passed over Clark without pausing. Clark kept taking notes without thinking anything of it.

When the session let out he joined the throng of people exiting the room, trying not to jostle the people next to him as they all headed for the lobby. He needed to go over his notes. He needed to get in touch with the Planet. He needed…

Ugh, he wanted a shower.

He really really really wanted a shower.

 *  *  *

Clark got a chance to run to the toilets before the next session and took it. Somehow in spite of being ironed, his suit already looked wrinkled again. Clark straightened out his shirt as best as he could, but there was little hope for the cheap suit. He sighed and headed back out.

There was an open q & a for the final part of the day. Clark scribbled notes for his article, filling several pages before it ended. His plan for the evening included getting his article started and having a draft ready to go by the end of the night.

As he was heading for the exit, he found Wayne standing near the doors, checking his watch.

Clark would have walked by without saying anything, what was there to say, but Wayne nodded at him.

“Doing Casual Friday early, eh?”

Clark tried again to smooth his jacket, knowing the gesture was in vain. “The hotel showers weren’t working.”

Wayne looked amused. “That explains the whole look.”

Clark scowled. Why had he even bothered to try to explain? “Should be fixed by now.” Besides, what did it matter if he look rumpled for a day? They weren’t all billionaires. Nobody was watching his every move.

“You hope.” Wayne grinned.

Clark straightened his jacket, ignoring him.

“What if it’s not?”

“What?” Clark looked up. He didn’t even want to consider that option.

“Just saying.” Wayne shrugged. “Do you really want to show up for the second day looking like shit?” He had his hands in his pockets, casual as hell. “You’ve already had one interview canceled on you, do you really want to risk another?”

Clark blinked. “How do you know about that?”

“I had lunch with Lawson.“ Wayne pursed his lips, “And he mentioned he didn’t have time for it.”

There was something he wasn’t saying, something basic. Clark looked at him and Wayne met his gaze squarely. He might as well have just said it. Lawson didn’t consider the interview important enough to keep.

“Right.” Clark ran his hand down his tie in a reflexive gesture. “Thanks for letting me know.”

He took a step to the side, but Wayne was still there in front of him. “You needed that interview.”

 _Yeah, of course I did._ Wayne knew this of course. _What of it?_

“You write shorthand.” Wayne observed.

“Yeah.” Why the switch in topics? Wait, had Wayne been watching _him_ during the sessions?

“You’ll need someplace quiet to type all those up before tomorrow.” Wayne said. “Let me know if you need a bed for the night.”

 _Are you kidding me?_ Clark gave him a look. “That’s very generous, Mr. Wayne. I had no idea you were so friendly towards the press.”

“I owe your city a favor or two.” Wayne shrugged. He leaned in close so that once again Clark could smell his scent, the man's aftershave, sharp and clean. “And it’s Bruce.”

He held out a business card. “Like I said, let me know.”

“I’ll do that.” Clark slipped the card in his pocket. One for the scrapbooks.

“See you tomorrow then.” Bruce nodded goodbye and walked over to speak to someone else.

Clark continued heading towards the doors.

 *  *  *

At his hotel room he stood in the bathroom doorway and stared at the shower. Not only was it not fixed, there was now water trickling out of the faucet in an annoying repetitive pattern.

Clark called down to the front desk to check on the progress. He listened to the concierge, thanked the man, and hung up again.

The business card was still in his pocket. Clark drew it out and gazed at it. The name _Bruce Wayne_ stared up at him in a thin, elegant script.

He turned it over. Two words were written on the back underneath the number.

_Call me._


	2. Chapter 2

He could survive without a shower for another day, right? On the other hand, the first of the main panel discussions was tomorrow and he was hoping to get a decent spot in the press section if he got there early enough. Some sort of amends needed to be made for today’s failed interview. He’d been counting on a decent quote from Lawson to head his story. Now that was out of the question.

Clark reached for his phone, calling Lois while he worked out what to do next. He tapped the business card absently against the pristine window pane as he gazed out at Gotham. The night was setting in. Would Bruce head home for the night, or stay in the city?

Lois picked up after five rings. "This better be good. I'm in the middle of a story."

Clark grinned, "Don't let me interrupt." Just hearing her voice made him feel better. He set the card down on the windowsill. _Call me_ stared up at him. He ignored it.

"I already did so what's up.” There was the crinkle of a bag and he wondered idly what sort of chips Lois was eating. “How'd the interview with Lawson go? You get the budget quote?"

"He canceled." Clark rubbed his thumb along the wrinkle in his forehead. Lois would have tracked the guy down in spite of the cancellation. She was persistent like that. You had to be persistent to get what you wanted in journalism, and in life, according to her. Clark sighed silently, anticipating her response.

"Are you _serious_? Clark!"

"I'm sorry, Lois."

"That was _the_ interview, Clark. The big one. I had to promise to write an article about stock options to get that. Clark, you know how much I hate stock options."

"So much you would rather set fire to your hair." Clark repeated out of habit.

"Yeah. That." Lois sighed. "So, beyond that abysmal failure, anything good happen?"

_Call me._

_It's Bruce._

_Can I offer you a bed for the night?_

"I..." Clark studied the card. "I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know."

“You better come up with something good to make this all worthwhile.” Lois warned.

“I’ll do my best.” He hung up.

The shower was still dripping consistently. He could hear it from the other room.

If he could get an interview with Bruce Wayne though… That might make up for the cancellation today. Lois would forgive him for something of that caliber. She’d tried to get one with Wayne before settling on Lawson as a matter of rote. On the one hand Clark hated asking for favors. On the other, Wayne kept showing up wherever he was, whichever way he turned. He was reading too much into that, surely.

The shower chose that moment to start wheezing and spitting water across the bathroom.

That was the last straw. Before he could change his mind Clark sent off a quick text.

_Offer still good?_

*  *  *

_Wayne Manor._

Clark adjusted his glasses as he gazed up at the stately building in front of him. So this was Wayne Manor. The windows were dark except for the two lights right in the front of the house. There was a quiet air of desolation clinging to the manor. It made Clark hesitate as he got out of the car. The manor was every bit as impressive as the man himself and yet still lonely too.

“No need to stand on ceremony.” Bruce opened the door.

Clark reached for his bag, didn’t bother to explain that he wasn’t. It wasn’t his job to see if Bruce Wayne was as lonely as he suspected.

Bruce led the way up the steps, pushing the large front door open casually, as though it had never been locked.

“Alfred should be around here somewhere.” Bruce tossed over his shoulder. “He’ll be able to set you up with a bed and a meal.”

“You don’t need to do that,” He never meant to impose on the man like this. “I can, um.-“  _Do what? Run out for a quick bite?_ At last Clark settled on, “Just a bed and a shower will be great.”

Bruce just looked at him. “It’s no trouble. Besides, it will give Alfred something to do.” He led the way through the entryway. “Alfred? Alfred!”

“Is there a particular reason you’re bellowing my name around in that uncouth manner?” A tall, distinguished silver-haired man appeared in a doorway.

“We have a guest.” Bruce gestured to Clark. “Alfred, this is Clark Kent. He’s in Gotham for the conference.” Yep, 100% casual, as though he brought home guests all the time. Perhaps he did.

“Indeed.” Alfred looked at Clark with increased interest. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kent. Will you be staying us with us long?”

“Ah-“

“Till the end of the conference.” Bruce said before Clark had a chance to say anything else.

_He just has this all figured out now, doesn’t he?_

“If it’s any inconvenience,” Clark added quickly. “I can find another hotel room. There has to be one available soon.”

Bruce didn’t even acknowledge that. “His hotel shower’s out.” He gave Alfred a look, gesturing at Clark’s rumpled state. “We couldn’t let him attend a Gotham conference looking like this, now could we?”

“He looks reasonably acceptable to me.” Alfred murmured.

Was Clark imagining it, or did Alfred sound rather reproving? His heart warmed towards the butler.

“Either way.” Bruce sounded casual about this too. “I’m sure you can find him a room.” He dropped his keys into a shallow glass bowl standing on a table and started for the stairs quick strides. “Something with a large shower.”

“And do _we_ have plans tonight, sir?” Alfred called after him.

If Bruce heard him, he didn’t respond as he jogged up the staircase and disappeared out of sight.

Clark looked sheepishly at Alfred. “If this is any trouble at all, I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s no trouble whatsoever,” Alfred reassured him. “Let me show you to a room.”

He led Clark up the wide staircase and down a broad hallway. The carpet was thick and soft under his feet. Clark marveled at the expanse of the place. All these rooms just for the two of them. He thought of his parent’s house. It was small (okay, it was _tiny_ , compared to this) but even as he had grown bigger over the years, the rooms themselves had never seemed any smaller in space.

Clark felt a pang of homesickness. _Warm sunlight filtering through the bright yellow kitchen curtains, the smooth wooden floors under his feet, his mom smiling at him as she washed the dishes, flicking water at him as he laughed._ Wayne Manor was the opposite of that in practically every way. He made a note to call his mom later this week, just to check in.

“Here we are.” Alfred opened a room and waved him in.

Clark stepped into the room. “Wow.” This was a guest room?

“I’ll put you in here, next to Master Bruce.” Alfred opened the curtains, bathing the room in early evening light. “That way if you need anything he’ll be right next door.”

Most likely that was easiest for Alfred. Clark held his tongue. It made no sense to be moved to another room. He could hardly explain the slight unease at the thought of being right so close to Bruce.

“Would you prefer to shower first or perhaps a something to eat?”

“A shower, if that’s okay.” Clark set his bag down by the foot of the bed. It really was a nice room, quiet, peaceful. If Bruce actually left him alone he could get his typing done in no time.

“Perfectly. That will give me time to whip something up.” Alfred gestured towards the bathroom. “There should be fresh towels already in there.”

“Thank you.”

*  *  *

 _Bliss._ Clark turned his neck, letting the water run over his broad chest. He took a deep breath, consciously relaxing all of his muscles as the water coursed down his skin. The water pressure was just right. The hot water hadn’t run out. _This_ was worth accepting Bruce’s offer.

In the other room he could hear the man walking back and forth across the carpet.

At last Clark shut off the shower and reached for a towel. He dried himself off, thinking of how to phrase the request for an interview. Should he be honest about how much it would help his article or play it casual? Bruce had to know what it would mean, but maybe casual was the way to go.

He’d brought one pair of jeans and a t-shirt along with his suits. Clark dressed himself in those now, pulling on fresh socks as well. He debated briefly whether to put his shoes back on or just go down as he was. In the end he left the room in his socks. Alfred wouldn’t care.

Clark started down the hall, but paused at the open door of the room next to him.  There he caught sight of Bruce moving to stand in front of the lengthwise mirror as he drew on a white collared shirt. Bruce pulled the hem up to tuck his shirt in, revealing a broad expanse of tautly muscled back. There were faint scars, raised and ridged, here and there across Bruce’s skin. Clark was frozen, mesmerized as he watched Bruce tuck the shirt in and pulled it smooth. Bruce straightened his cuffs, glancing in the mirror and Clark walked on quickly, heading down the stairs.

The fading evening sunlight shone through the windows as he stood in the entryway.  There was no sign of Alfred. Should he go look for him, or…

“Lost?”

Clark turned towards the stairs as Bruce came down them. Whatever he’d been about to say left him, his tongue quite speechless as he gazed at the man in front of him. Bruce was now wearing a tux that Clark was confident cost more than a small car. Possibly even a house. And worth every penny. Sleek and svelte, the material clinging to him like a second skin.  Good _god_.

“Well?” Bruce paused, one hand on the bannister. “Do I pass muster?”

Clark wet his lips. “What’s the occasion?” There was no point in telling Bruce that he looked good, he always looked good.

Bruce raised a hand to smooth at his tie. “I have a date.”

Clark squelched the unreasonable disappointment at hearing that. Of course Bruce wasn’t going to stick around for the evening and...do what? He’d simply offered a place to stay and Clark had accepted it. That was as far as it went.

Alfred appeared from the lengthy hallway, gazing at Bruce in inquiry.

“I do have plans.” Bruce told him. “Don’t wait up.” He grinned at Clark as he scooped up his keys.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Clark said.

Bruce paused to look over his shoulder. “That was for Alfred.”

He was whistling as he made his way down the steps.

Clark just stood there. The house sounded very quiet after the last sounds of the engine had died away. Alfred made a barely audible sound, rather as though a mouse had sighed.

“I’d apologize for his behavior, but I’m quite sure you’re used to it by now.”

“He’s not usually like this when we,” Clark cut himself off. How much did Alfred know anyway? He couldn’t just assume, could he? But there was something in the kindly butler’s demeanor that made him trust that instinct. It would be extremely difficult for Bruce to keep his identity a secret from Alfred. He _had_ to know.

“Yes, well,” Alfred sniffed slightly. “That’s something.” He gestured in the direction of what Clark assumed was the kitchen. “This way, sir.”

“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.” Clark followed him into the kitchen.

“An informal meal.” Alfred assured him. “I like to have company in the kitchen. I used to let Master Bruce eat in here after…well, the dining room was so very empty in those early days.”

Clark could see why. The kitchen was far more intimate than the rest of the house. Here in this room Clark suddenly had a vivid picture of Alfred looking after Bruce when he was young, and how lucky Bruce had been to have Alfred.

Clark sat down at the table. “You’ve looked after him a long time.”

Alfred put a plate in front of him. It contained a turkey sandwich, thick and tasty with layers of lettuce, tomato and onion. Beside that there was a group of grapes and a serving of potato salad.

“This is.” Clark gazed at the plate in silent appreciation.

“Very simple, I’m afraid.”

“Perfect.” Clark smiled at him. “Thank you.”  He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, trying not to let his stomach rumble too much.

After the meal while Alfred went about whatever he was doing, Clark went back upstairs to his room and worked on his article. He typed quickly, compiling his notes into one neat file, but his mind kept returning to that glimpse through the open door. Bruce’s lean, lethal body contained in the perfect lines of that tux.

Clark swallowed hard. He laid his pen down, rubbing his thumb at the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses aside. This was a sign of how tired he was, if he was thinking about Bruce like that. Bruce Wayne – playboy, lady-killer, serial seducer, irrepressible flirt.

But with him? Clark just couldn’t see it happening. Especially not with what they knew about each other. It just didn’t make sense. That line of reasoning did little to erase the image from his brain. Supposing Bruce had turned his head and seen Clark watching him? Supposing Bruce had -.

_What? What do you think is going to happen here? Really?_

Clark put his glasses firmly back in place and returned to his notes.

*  *  *

By the time he was finally ready to stop for the night, it was nearly eleven. Clark set his notebook aside and stretched. It was time for a break.

He made his way downstairs and went into the kitchen. Alfred was seated at the table, looking over some papers. He looked up as Clark entered the room.

“Everything all right, sir?”

“Please, Alfred.” Clark said. “Call me Clark.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to take getting called ‘sir’ seriously.

Alfred merely smiled.

The clock on the kitchen wall only said 11:03. It was still early. “I thought I might go for a walk if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” Alfred paused. “The southwest door is always left unlocked.” He paused again. “Master Bruce has a tendency to forget his key some nights.”

Clark smiled. _Uh-huh, and I was born yesterday_. “I’ll try to be quiet when I come in.”

“Have a good walk.”

Clark could practically hear the muffled ‘sir’ as he went out the door. Maybe if he just gave Alfred time he would get more comfortable with his first time. He could only hope.

The air was clearer here, away from Gotham. Even the faintly stifling aura of the manor receded the longer he walked. Clark strolled across the grass, resisting the urge to turn back and look over his shoulder. There was no one watching from the windows. Bruce wasn’t there. It was just a feeling, something at the back of his neck, like a wisp of hair he couldn’t catch.

Clark waited until he was far away from the house, well out of sight, veiled by a lush green hedge and shouldered by thick trees before he let himself give in. The air immediately felt freer around him as he glided upwards. Now he could breathe.

At night, from the air, Wayne Manor still looked impressive. Clark gazed down at it, still thinking of Bruce growing up here alone except for Alfred.

He flew higher, simply enjoying the night. In the distance Gotham’s spires and slanted square roofs reminded him once again of an illustration. A dark storybook, wary of both intruders and its own inhabitants. The city didn’t have the same bright-eyed expectancy Metropolis possessed. Or was he merely sentimental? Obviously there was crime in Metropolis, but it happened in the warm span of sunlight, whereas activities in Gotham were always illicit somehow, even in the middle of the afternoon.

A car appeared in the distance as he turned, watching the headlights dot their way through the trees, up the winding drive towards the manor. Clark hesitated, then flew closer. Not planning on eavesdropping exactly, but curious. It was early by Bruce Wayne’s standards.

There was a woman in the driver’s seat. She parked and Bruce leaned over, kissing her neck before he got out of the car.

It wasn’t spying. Clark just remained there, watching. The murmur and rise of Bruce and the woman’s voice was low-pitched. She was leaning over the side of the car, slim hands playing on his sleeves. Bruce leaned back in, responding. His hand glided up her back. His words were a velvet caress in the night. Clark blushed in the dark. And then Bruce lurched sideways, catching himself with a chuckle. The woman said something else and he shook his head, steadying himself. At last he stepped back and she drove off.

Bruce straightened up, all semblance of intoxication gone.

 _Don’t you get tired of playing this, Bruce?_ He had to wonder. Or maybe Bruce was just so accustomed to his disguise he could no longer imagine a life without it.

Clark hovered silently in the air, gazing at him as Bruce just stood there. It was impossible to see fully in the dark, he knew this. But at the same time, as Bruce turned his head and glanced upward at the dark, he stilled himself, barely able to breathe until the man walked on around the house, down the paved path to the side door. There he paused again, looking out across the dark lawn, with a studious expression.

In moments like this, Clark was quite simply fascinated. He’d seen the Batman all darkness and dry brooding sarcasm, the cloak always at your back. Then there was the playboy charming, yes, but not entirely 100% reliable. He wouldn’t trust him.

But this man in the shadows, halfway between those two familiar personalities – this man was new. Different. He was still unknowable, a mystery to be solved, and Clark was no detective, but he _was_ a journalist. Perhaps he didn’t possess the same tenacity of Lois (they broke the mold after her after all) but he _was_ curious.

Bruce cast another look at the dark lawn and then went inside.

Supposing he checked in before going to bed.

There was no need to suppose that, but Clark had a sudden burst of suspicion. He flew around the house and tried to determine which room was his again. _There._ Finally. He landed on the balcony and slid the door open just as Bruce opened the bedroom door.

“I knocked.” Bruce said, eying him.

“I was on the balcony.” Clark closed the door behind him and turned to face Bruce once more.

Bruce gave him an undefinable look. “Awfully dewy out there on the balcony.”

Clark followed his gaze downward to his socks, covered in dew and grass.

_Damn._

“Something I can help you with?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to drive into the city together tomorrow.”

“I need to be there for the opening sessions.” That would put an end to that. No way was Bruce going to-

“Fine.” Bruce turned towards the door.

“You’re getting up for an eight o’clock meeting?” Clark was skeptical.

“You seem surprised.” Bruce leaned against the door.

“Just, if you don’t have to…” He was going about this the wrong way. He wanted Bruce to care, damnit, wanted this half to care, as much as the other did. Even though Clark knew Bruce had to. He was still looking for that, some sign, and still consequently searching in vain.

Bruce was still there, leaning in the doorway, eyeing him, “You think I should.”

“Shouldn’t you?” Clark turned it back into a question. “It’s your city after all.” _Don’t you care?_

“Yes,” Bruce agreed after a moment, “It is my city. So what about you? Why are you here?”

_Because I wanted to see Gotham. Because I wanted to see the situation for myself. Because I wanted to see you._

“My editor got a hot tip.”

Bruce’s smile was the closest thing Clark had seen to satisfied without looking fully smug.

“Well, that was handy.” He hesitated.

The pretense was hanging by a thread. What was to be gained by clinging to it?

“You sobered up quickly.” Clark said.

Bruce slid his hand down in his pockets. His tie was rumpled. There were traces of lipstick on his collar and a faint, bruising mark on his throat tucked just inside his shirt that set Clark’s imagination into instant replay. She would have leaned in, breasts full against him as she mouthed at the soft flesh along Bruce’s throat. His hair was still neat. But it was easy to picture her fingers sliding up to grip at his hair, just tugging, exposing more of his throat as he (it was Clark now, in his imagination) setting his lips to Bruce’s throat.

Bruce cleared his throat and Clark snapped back to the present.

“What makes you think I was drunk?”

“You didn’t drive back.” Clark said. The anticipation of the next question ( _You were watching me then_ ). “I’m good with car engines. She was driving a Lamborghini. You left in a Porsche.”

Bruce just smiled at him. The facade was in tatters, but they were both still holding it up like it’s perfectly normal. Because maybe deep down he’s like Bruce in this respect, can’t imagine a world where they speak plainly to each other.

Bruce turned to the door. “Goodnight, Clark.”

“Goodnight Bruce.”

Clark waited till the door was closed before removing his socks and balling them up to toss in the direction of his bag. How could he have been so careless?

 He sat back down at his desk, listening at the back of his mind even while he pretended to focus on his article. Bruce crossed the floor, removing his watch, the clink of it on the dresser. A faint whoosh, pulling his tie free, setting it aside. That would expose his throat even more. The brief moment where he removed his shoes and socks before slipping out of his pants.

Clark moved to stand by the window, but it was no good. He could still hear. The soft brush of cloth as Bruce slowly removed his shirt, and then, at last, the silken drop of briefs to the carpeted floor.

Clark leaned against the windowpane. He knew Bruce was wearing briefs. This was crossing a line, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go to Alfred and tell him that he needed to be in another room because he could hear Bruce removing his underwear. He pressed his face into the glass as the shower started. _Bruce moving under the spray, tilting his head back, lifting his throat to the water, letting it roll down his skin._

Clark’s own collar was too tight. He tugged at it, and then his hand froze as he heard the slow unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh. Bruce was masturbating right next door to him. On purpose. He had to be. There was no way this was coincidence.

And if he was doing it on purpose, that meant he wanted Clark to hear. But why? Clark defaulted to running through the reasons, trying not to listen. To embarrass him? To throw him off his game? If he even had one.

To just be a dick?

Of course there was also the possibility that Bruce wanted him to hear because he knew Clark had been thinking about him. Because he’d been thinking about Clark.

 _Nah_.

But what if…

There was a faint thud and a muttered “Damn.”

It was a trick. He was fine. _Leave it alone._

“Bruce?”

Clark hesitated, before going over to knock at the door. This was a ploy. He shouldn’t. There was no answer.

“Bruce?”

The door wasn’t locked. Clark opened it.

The warm air leaking out of the open bathroom door smelled of lilac soap and semen. Clark hesitated again, unwilling to go further without it being absolutely necessary. “Bruce?”

From the bathroom there came a muffled “Fuck.”

Bruce stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, another one covering his head as he dried his hair. On his right shin there was a thin gash, blood speckling under the skin. Bruce dropped the towel to his shoulders and looked at Clark.

“Come to rescue me from my own damnable clumsiness?” He raised one hand to rest it against the doorjamb.

_Yes._

“That looks painful.” Clark nodded at his ankle.

Bruce shrugged and the towel rose and fell with the motion. “Didn’t see a stool.”

The air wafted between them, rich and salty and obvious. If Bruce was discomfited, he didn’t show it.

“I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“Oh, you weren’t.” Clark managed.

 _Why are you doing this to me? What do you hope to gain?_ Maybe Bruce just played games with everyone? Clark didn’t want to be included in that.

Bruce half raised his towel to rub at his hair again. “I needed that.”

Clark looked at him. His bare feet pressed into the soft plush carpet. Bruce was only half a room away, a matter of steps.

“Clark?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He nodded at Bruce. “Goodnight."

“Clark.”

But this time he didn’t turn, merely exiting the room and going back to his own.

Clark closed the door and leaned against it.

_That was a come-on._

_Shut up._

He didn’t have to stay at Wayne Manor. He could find another hotel room tomorrow, surely.

_Good luck with that._

_Stop it_. Clark told the Bruce voice in his head. No, no. not Bruce. The other one. The one he was used to, the one he would have known what to say to.

He sighed, stretched out on the bed. If this was just a straight up mission, he would have known what to do here. How to deal with Batman, same as ever.

This was not the same as ever.

Clark could trust him in the field. He could trust Batman to do what was necessary. They didn’t always agree on that, naturally, but together they got the job done. That was where his trust in the man rested.

Not in Bruce Wayne.

It scared Clark how much he wanted to trust him though. How tempting it was to let Bruce in.


End file.
